She Keeps Her Love Away
by cloverblob
Summary: When Quinn decides to take Beth back months after she gives her up for adoption, Shelby only has Rachel around to comfort her, but sometimes it hurts too much for even Shelby Corcoran to handle.
1. She Doesn't Like To Show You Her Tears

**Author's Note: **This is a sequel to Heart On My Sleeve, though I think it can standalone. Okay, your reviews and number of alerts were just too damn amazing to not at least try for another three shot. I'll see where it goes, can be either shorter or longer, depending on where I think I'm going and how long it takes to get there. I feel like I get some sadomasochistic pleasure from the things I put Shelby through. If you read my other stories, and all awesome people do, you would totally agree. I decided to restrict it to a Shelby/Rachel story, it started off about them and I think it needs to end on them. But there may be some characters later, they're just not pivotal. Also, I feel bad for not finishing my other story before posting this (_this was supposed to be a one-shot but the ideas and all the favourites it got are inspiring!_) but I will finish it soon!

So, this story was kind of inspired by Alice Ripley's song She Keeps Her Love Away and I felt like that was worth mentioning and she's worth pimping out. She plays Diana Goodman in Next To Normal for any non-theatre fans, who probably wouldn't know N2N anyway. Anyhow, she's amazing and you should check out this song and her new album Daily Practice. I'd pimp out Idina, but really, she needs no pimping. She's her own pimp. I've used the word pimp too much now, I should stop.

**SHE KEEPS HER LOVE AWAY**

_She doesn't like to show you her tears_

_She doesn't want feelings to get in the way_

_Somebody hurt her a long time ago_

_She's sealed up her heart and that's how it'll stay_

The daughter lies in her mother's bed, a body pillow tucked under her arm and beneath her cheek. The mattress is comfortable, and more than that, the feel of the entire room is comfortable. Perhaps it's the subtle musical decor or the simple fact that everything just _smells_ like her mother. It may seem strange to some, but the defining aroma of a person is important. And to Rachel, it's an endless comfort. She doesn't know if it's biological or simply her sense of longing, but it's there.

She hasn't been able to sleep for the past few hours. So she just lies there, blanket pulled up to her chin and stares at the ceiling. The room, she notices, isn't anything special. It's simple, neutral colours, some plaques and a sole family photo on the bedside table beside a copy of some obscure, ancient book that even Rachel has never heard of before. It's pretty in its simplicity, but it lacks soul; something is missing. Regardless of the empty baby crib a mere metre away.

Earlier, she passed by the nursery and playroom, which is clearly still under development. Rachel notes that the homey atmosphere void from this and the living room is being poured into every frame of wood in the space across the hall. And now, everything she'd worked for, the baby, the room, the future, all of it, was just ripped away from her. It's a demoralizing thought.

It's easy to see how much her mother has invested in raising this baby. More than that, she understands why. Her life is empty and she's grown tired of telling everyone she's happy, so instead, she's making it happen. But the fates have never been kind to Shelby Corcoran. It's something Rachel respects of her parent, she never complains about her life. Regardless of how hard she's worked, how passionate she is and how nothing ever goes her way, she takes it, buries it away and keeps her head held high.

But everyone has a breaking point.

_She's got better things to do than share it with you_

_She lives alone and she says that she's happy_

_She's so afraid someone will knock on her door_

_Look in her window and now what will they see?_

Her eyes flutter open, a deep throbbing of pain and numbness plaguing the depths of her brain. There's a sense of panic as she wakes up to surroundings that are not her bedroom, in fact, they are nothing of the sort. She is lying within a pile of pillows and blankets, a makeshift bed upon the floor of her living room. She's disoriented by this, though she can assume alcohol was involved.

She pulls off two layers of blankets that had been tucked up to her chest, and slowly but surely lifts herself onto her own two feet. Making her way into the kitchen, Shelby turns on the tap and fills the electric kettle with water before setting it on its stand. It's a morning routine that she's all too used to. Then she makes her way through the hallway towards her bedroom when she hears running water from the bathroom. With intrigue, she changes direction to towards the noise when the water shuts off. At best, she assumes to find a half naked man she doesn't remember sleeping with, hop out of the shower. What she's met with instead, is her daughter wiping her face with a towel, fully-clothed.

Shelby doesn't say anything, but there's questioning upon her face. Rachel looks up at her, and her face suddenly brightens. Her mother's does not. "You're awake!" she says joyfully. "You slept for a long time, it's almost lunch time already. I was going to wake you up but I thought you might have needed to sleep it off." Shelby rustles her hair, still not saying anything as she pieces small things together in her head.

Discomforted by the silence, Rachel starts her way towards Shelby's room and uncertainly, Shelby follows. "I slept in your bed, I hope that's okay..." she starts off tediously. "Your guest room was just full of boxes and the couch looked really uncomfortable," she makes a shrug with her lips and shoulder synchronously. "I'm very hygienic!" she adds on just in case. "I took a shower before I went to bed and then you called me and-"

Shelby puts a hand up to silence her and squeezes her eyes shut with pain. "You're very loud right now," she tells her groggily. "And my head hurts. It's okay that you slept in my bed. Haven't slept in it in a few days anyway." She hasn't even entered her room, doesn't plan on doing it any time soon either, especially not with that empty crib beside the dresser. Right now, Rachel stands within the threshold and Shelby refuses to even peer inside.

"Oh, okay," Rachel replies simply, dropping all her possible apologies for invading personal space. "I'd have moved you to the bed," she tells her, gesturing towards the queen sized wooden framed setup behind her, "but you were kind of heavy. So I got as many blankets and pillows as I could, but you didn't have a whole lot."

After a moment of just staring at her, Shelby realizes Rachel expects a response; notably praise. She can tell she thrives on recognition for her achievements. "Thank you," Shelby says, her disgruntled tone still evident, and gets a grin in response. She smiles back as best she can. If she can play off whatever might have happened, whatever she might have told her, then maybe Rachel will leave.

"You're welcome," she answers, and starts off again towards the kitchen. Reluctantly, her mother follows. "I'm going to make us lunch, what would you like?" Shelby's eyebrows furrow at how easily Rachel can accompany herself with, virtually, a stranger's home. She rarely cooks for herself, why would she possibly have her daughter do it for her?

"Actually, thank you, Rachel. But I still feel quite crappy, I think I'm just going to go back to sleep," she tells her, wondering if the girl will get the hint and leave. Honestly, she'll probably clean up the mess that's been made and sit at the piano for a few hours. Passing out from a drink is the only way her brain is ever going to be able to shut down and drift into the bliss that is sleep.

Rachel stops what she's doing and grimaces at this response. "You have to eat," she says and turns back to continue her search of the cupboards for a pancake mix. Shelby shrugs, and normally, she would stress her point, but she's in pain and she's exhausted.

There's a click of the electric kettle, signalling boiled water and Shelby goes to take out a coffee mug and a small plastic bottle. Like clockwork, she drops the proper amount of crushed coffee and formula into each and pours the steaming liquid into both. She barely notices Rachel is watching her until the baby bottle is half full and Shelby comes to realization.

Her gaze turns to her daughter who looks back at her with pity, and the bottle overflows, the hot water running across the counter and onto the floor where Shelby leaps back to avoid the heat. Placing the kettle back on its stand, she seems horrified with herself then abruptly turns and runs into the sitting room. Her hands push against the kitchen door before she pulls them up to shield her face and falls onto the couch, sucking in air.

A minute passes as she tries to collect herself when she feels a hand upon her shoulder. Swiftly, she recoils and shifts her body away. "Mom..." Rachel says softly, not sure how to handle a sober, distraught Shelby. "I put all the baby stuff away, you don't have to worry about. I want you to stay sitting here and I'll just make us some food-"

"I don't want food, Rachel!" Shelby says suddenly, looking up from her hands. She doesn't want to do this, but she's tired and she's hurting and she doesn't like people. "I don't know why you're here, but you should leave. I've told you that we need distance. This," she gestures to the lack of space between them, "is not distance. This is my home and you have intruded. You may leave now."

Rachel is noticeably hurt, and she looks down for a moment, blinking before composing herself in her signature melodramatic way. "I think I'll stay," she tells her mother nonchalantly. She isn't going down without a fight.

"I didn't give a choice," her words sound harsh, more so than she means them to be. Standing up, she grasps onto Rachel's arm and pulls her towards the foyer. "Put your shoes on," she orders, relinquishing the grip on her bicep then standing between her and the way back into the house. Rachel refuses to comply, and she grows frustrated. "Just put your shoes on and get the hell out!"

The teenager's eyes begin to water, but she doesn't make a single movement to do as she's told. "Now you're just being mean," she says, a struggling texture to her voice. She attempts to push her mother out of the way, every intention of making her way into the bedroom and planting herself there for hours if need be. The woman doesn't budge though, sturdily holding her ground.

"Yeah, well, I'm a mean person. Be lucky you don't have to get used it," she tells her, and there's almost malice in her tone. Rachel tells herself there's just so much anger built up and she's the only one around for her to unleash it on, but knowing that can't stop how she feels. "Leave before I make you," Shelby orders her again through gritted teeth.

"You're already making me!" she yells back. "I'm trying to help you, and you can't stop me from doing it! You're my mother and I love you so you're just going to have to deal with it!" She watches as Shelby's aggressive stance softens, and pulls her into a hug that isn't returned, her body is more limp than anything.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" she pleads, heartache stuck in her throat, leaving a stabbing pain where her vocal chords should be. She stares at the door as Rachel's smaller form has her head against her shoulder. Her mother's anger isn't going to be easy to handle, she knows, but it's a sacrifice she's willing to make. She'll take the rage as it comes.

She's scared if she doesn't, Shelby will take it out on herself.

_Her life and death will seem so peaceful_

_She's never been touched, no scars to show_

_But as they're passing the lid on her coffin_

_Here lies a woman nobody knows_

Sitting on the couch, knees tucked up to her chest, Shelby watches the television blankly. It's on; there's music, sound, picture but she barely registers what's happening. From the kitchen doorway, her daughter watches, unsure how to help her mother with her grief. So instead, she takes out a bowl of strawberries with a melted chocolate dip, praying it's not milk chocolate and heads into the living room.

"I love strawberries," she says, holding the bowl out to her mother who looks at the contents for a moment then polite shakes her head. Sighing, she sits down beside her, close enough that they're just about touching and Shelby shifts her body an inch away. And just being her adamant self, she gets up, moves to the other side of her and sits down so that she's leans back against her mother's arm.

"What are you doing?"

"Finally!" Rachel says, turning her head around to face her. "I've been waiting for you to speak for an hour!" She smiles at the woman, trying to balance out her negative energy.

Shelby purses her lips at this, solemnly frowning. "I'm not in a talking mood," she says, raising her arm onto the back of the couch, an action of which her child immediately takes advantage and snuggles into the opening. At this, Shelby can't help but let out a soft chuckle.

"Eat a strawberry," Rachel insists, picking one up by its leaves and holding it up to her. Again, she shakes her head and the girl's eyebrows narrow. "Eat it or I'll feed it to you," she tells her, as though speaking to a child. The order, though, receives a hard glare and the girl softens up, just the slightest amount of fear from her mother's tough attitude. "Please? You need to eat _something_. Just to make me happy? You do want me to be happy, right?"

Resigning, she lets out a breath and reaches out to bite half the berry straight from her daughter's fingertips. "Happy?" she asks apprehensively, slowly chewing the fruit within her mouth.

"Very!" she replies cheerily, then reaches forward to grab the remote and starts flipping through the channels.

"Hey, I was watching that," Shelby protests, pretending to be outraged but truthfully too jaded to pull it off.

"Really? So what was it about?" Rachel challenges, not bothering to look away from the TV screen, stopping for a maximum of four seconds before switching to the successive channel.

Pausing at the fact her bluff was called, Shelby straightens her neck out. "It was about people who do... stuff," is the only answer she can provide, sounding so dastardly inelegant, then shrugging in defeat.

"Oh, I know that show," Rachel retaliates, feeling rather clever. "Isn't it called Shelby Saving Face?" She offers a toothy grin with raised eyebrows at her own comment.

"You know, I think that's it." At that, Shelby shook her head and laughed softly, placing a hand to her daughter's head, tilting it toward her and blessing a whisper of a kiss within her dark hair. Rachel's smile becomes exponentially brighter, completely taken aback with surprise. Seeing her daughter's expression, Shelby looks at her with questioning eyes. "What?"

"It's just- you don't seem touchy-feely at all. I don't know, you surprise me," she explains earnestly, not sure how to tell her mother, in the nicest way possible, that she has a natural ability to put off an aura of coldness.

Shelby doesn't react to the comment though, instead, smiles calmly back. "I'm glad you got to spend this time with me, Rachel."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What?"

"I don't know, the way you said it. What does that mean?"

Seemingly confused, Shelby tilts her head to the side. "It doesn't mean anything," she replies with addled eyes.

"Oh," Rachel says finitely, not arguing the point. "Can we watch _Funny Girl_? It's my favourite, and I'll bet anything it's yours too." She's sitting up completely straight now, a pleading hand on her mother's arm, a smile so big she's almost hurting herself.

"Sure. How about we watch it in my room?" she suggests. "I'm tired, so we can just lie on the bed, okay?" Nodding eagerly, the remove themselves from the living room, switching the television and lights completely off and heading into the bedroom.

Shelby pops the DVD in and gets under the covers beside her daughter. Together, they watch the film, singing along to "People", as they would. After all, they both know every line of both the lyrics and dialogue. But somewhere along the way, they stop singing. With neither having gotten very much steady sleep the night before, fatigue overtakes the young woman, falling asleep cradled up to her mother's side.

She watches her daughter sleep, arms and legs spread across the bed. She seems so peaceful, so unlike her conscious, neurotic self. She studies her breathing, so light, with the blanket hanging halfway down her torso. Shelby grabs onto it and tucks it back up to her chest, a shimmer of a smile as she does so. There's a flutter of movement from the girl's eyes and her mother fears she's woken her already. When she turns over, tucking the blanket up to her chin and sifts back into sleep, there's a miniscule sigh of relief.

She slowly lifts herself from the bed, turning the volume up on the TV slightly, just to inhibit enough white noise to fill the room. Leaving a small kiss on the girl's forehead, she lingers upon the sight of her before making her way into the adjoining bathroom. From the cabinet, she retrieves four different bottles, pouring the contents out into her hand and filling up the glass of water she uses when brushing her teeth.

For a moment, she looks herself in the mirror; her hair has become greasy from the lack of a shower, her cheeks are hollowed, her eyes gaunt and she recognizes herself as someone she swore she'd never become. But life decided to kick her in the ass and prove her wrong. So she looks at the assortment of capsules in her hand and swiftly pulls them up to her mouth, throwing them back and swallowing with water. She feels the urge to gag, it's insufferable as her stomach turns. She swears she can feel the pills lodge in her throat.

But there's no more anxiety left, and she pours what remains of the pill bottles into her hand again; repeating the process. Her hands grip the sides of the sink, and a tiredness, a numbness, overtakes her. As gracefully as she can, she lowers herself to the floor, making as little noise as possible.

There's no panic, no fear, just a drowsiness that drags at her entire body, pulling her down towards the floor. Gravity has nothing compared to what she's just done. Her head lolls to the side, her spine can no longer hold her upright, and she falls sideways to the cold, porcelain floor. It's an oddly, and ironically, a refreshing sensation against her heated skin. Her mind doesn't race, it doesn't hurt, it doesn't regret. It's a blank slate.

Within moments, she drifts off into an austere sleep.

**Author's Note:** If you've read any of my stories, you must think I hate Shelby or something. I honestly love her... I'm just so torturous to characters in every story. An update may take a while, just because it may be difficult for me to write. Still, reviews would be nice, my lovely readers. :)


	2. Dancing With Death, I Suppose

**Author's Note: **With this story, I'm kind of flying blind. Unlike most of my stuff, this is completely unplanned so if it comes off confusing, I'm so terribly sorry. I'm writing what comes naturally and how it ends is as much as a surprise to me as it is for you. If anything ties in, it's completely coincidental. I'm usually much more literately efficient than this. That also means that any suggestions you might want to drop in the reviews would be greatly appreciated and taken into consideration!

To those who were like, how could Shelby do that with Rachel there? To be fair, she did try to make her leave quite forcefully.

**I'M DANCING WITH DEATH, I SUPPOSE**

_Maybe I'm tired of the game_

_Of coming up short of the rules, of the shame_

_And maybe you feel that way too_

_I see me in you, a girl full of anger and hope_

On the edge of waking, Rachel hears the sound of plastic, hollowed plastic, hitting the floor. Her eyes shake at the noise, waking her from that limbo between conscious states. She slowly sits up, startled by the waking noise that doesn't come from the television which is still playing the movie. "Mom?" she calls out, disturbed by her lack of presence in the room. She scans the room, mostly making out shadows from the dim light of the movie.

She gets out of bed, pushing the blanket off of her. "Shelby?" she tries instead, guessing on the woman's reluctance to answer while being addressed in such a way. From under the bathroom door, light peeks out and she makes her way across the room to knock on the door. "Mom, are you okay?" she asks, wondering if she's still ill from the alcohol. Without a reply, she knocks again, harder raps of her knuckles.

"Mom!" she repeats, a half yell. "Open the door!" She places her hand on the handle, turning it tentatively and softly pushing inwards. She spots her mother's legs spread loosely across the floor and swings it open.

Like most of the house, the bathroom is ultimately bare, filled only with essentials. Three empty pill bottles are sitting atop the sink, lids uncorked and at their sides. On the floor is the fourth bottle, the one she'd heard topple to the ground. Her mother lies, almost peacefully, across the floor, her head propped awkwardly against the walls.

"Mom," she says again, uncertainly as she falls to her knees. "Are you- wake up," she tells her, shaking her arm. There isn't even a shimmer of a response. "Mommy?" she says weakly, the reality of the situation setting in. She shakes her harder until her entire body rocks with the movement. "Wake up!" she yells at her, panicked. Her hands grab onto her mother's shoulders, rapidly asking her for some cooperation.

Running out of the room, she searches for a telephone. Each moment, she wastes in utter lunacy unable to spot the cordless phone sitting on the side table. Instead, she runs blindly passed it and grabs onto the one in the kitchen. The ringing is torturous, she stammers as she tells all the information asked of her. The questions come like a test she hasn't studied for and she takes, what seems to her like hours, to inform a three minute phone conversation. The woman on the other line is patient, understanding.

The woman informs her to check her breathing, her heart rate, to have the pill bottles at the ready. Rachel follows instructions effortlessly, as she always does, and waits with tear-stained cheeks and shaking arms upon the floor of the bathroom, holding her dying mother in her arms.

_A girl with a mother who just couldn't cope_

_A girl who felt caught and thought no one could see_

_But maybe one day she'll be free_

_It's so lovely that you're sharing, no really, I'm all ears_

The ambulance ride had to be one of the worst things Rachel had ever gone through. She sits in the cramped family seat, holding onto her mother's hand so tight she was cutting off circulation, what little there was of it. If she died on the ride over... Rachel simply couldn't handle that thought. All she can do, staring at her limp body is wonder and blame. She blames Shelby for being weak, blames herself for falling asleep, blames Quinn for ruining her mother's life, blames God for being a jackass, blames the paramedics for taking too long. The list is eternal, there's more than enough anger and accusation to go around.

_But where has all this caring been for sixteen years?_

_For all those years I prayed that you'd go away for good_

_Half the time afraid that you really would_

_When I thought you might be dying I cried for all we'd never be_

Shelby has her head lolled off to the side, seemingly peaceful if not for the restraints upon her wrist, holding her to the bed. Rachel protested this, but the doctor's had insisted on the precaution. She insisted her mother wasn't dangerous or violent, but the diva was particularly shaken and didn't make much of a case. Regardless, they had told her, Shelby was a danger to herself.

The woman slowly opens her eyes, immense pain upon her torso. She's disoriented, tired, in agony, trying to make sense of things. She barely moves, it would take too much effort to do so. Within her line of blurry sight, she makes out two figures in the room, the padded sound of their voices becoming a bit more clear.

"Daddy, please!" cries Rachel, stamping her foot to the ground. "I'm not going anywhere, she needs me!"

"Honeybear, she clearly has no care for what she's putting you through. She's a grown woman, she can take care of herself," replies the man with greying hair, putting a hand to his daughter's shoulder.

Rachel though, shrugs his hand away and takes a step back. "No, she can't," she replies, crossing her arms across her chest. "She's all alone," Rachel murmurs, heartbroken. It's pity, Shelby realizes. She's in the mood of self-wallowing, and she knew unrequited love from anyone couldn't be true. What her daughter passes off as love is pity, a mere sense of obligation to be there for her.

"You can't single-handedly fix her life," Hiram pleads. "You haven't been home in three days, let's go, you can rest and if nothing comes of it, you can come visit her tomorrow. You've done everything you can for her; brought her here, called her parents, got a therapist at her ready. Now, you need to take care of yourself."

"She needs more than a therapist and a mother I've called who told me, 'it was just a matter of time before she did it'! How can you be so heartless? I'm all she has."

"All she's done is cause you pain! I know you want a mom, baby, but she can't magically fill a void. You want her to be part of your family, I get it, but it's not that simple."

"I'm not leaving, but you're welcome to at any time, daddy," Rachel says finitely, turning around to go back to her mother's side and notices she's awake. "Mom! You're awake! I was so scared."

Shelby swallows thickly at being noticed and looks away, not able to find her voice and not sure she even wants to.

"I'm going to get a doctor, okay?" Rachel says. Shelby shakes her head, then reaches out to grab her hand; the side of the bed rattles at the pull of the cuffs. "What?" Rachel asks of her, but she turns her head away once again. A sense of sadness crosses the girl's face.

Silence passes over the room and Shelby looks up at the man in the doorway. She can't read his expression though, not even sure she wants to know what he's thinking. She turns away again, a cocktail of shame and anger.

"Daddy," Rachel says quietly, looking over to the man. He glances at her, and for about a moment he seems ready to say something, but instead he nods and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. Silence again. Shakily, Rachel reaches to enclose her hand upon her mother's. Shelby recoils, but without much leeway, she can't force the hand away. The teenager's dark eyes bore into her. "Why?" the girls questions, a tremble of her lips.

"Why?" Shelby repeats, incredulous. Rachel only sits there, waiting for the answer. But it doesn't come. "Why didn't you let me die?" Shocked, Rachel gapes at her mother; how can she even ask that question?

"I know you're hurting, but-"

"But? But what?" she swallows harshly. "I'm so tired, Rachel. I just-"

"Okay, then get some rest and we can continue talking-"

"No, that's not what I mean. I'm tired of this bullshit. I can't-"

"I understand how bad you feel, but life is worth living, it'll get better and you'll get through this. Just like you get through everything. I believe in-"

"You have no idea what I've been through! I'm just done. I'm tired. I'm tired of 'getting through' things. I'm tired of waiting for something better... I have nothing left."

"You have me."

Shelby doesn't respond. Rachel truly believes that statement. But it's not true. And Shelby simply can't bring herself to take that away from her.

**Author's Note:** -does the review dance- It's a real dance, I swear.


	3. I Know The Truth And It Haunts Me

**Author's Note: **Whoa, intense reviews and so many story alerts! It's fantastical :D Sorry for the slow updates, I'll try to be faster. I just haven't felt angsty enough lately for this story. And I feel it requires lots and lots of sadness to write or something... However, I just watched a very sad movie that made me cry, so yay for sad movies! This fic may end up longer than I had initially thought I would make it, it seems prudent to really lead through to a resolution. Also, not much Rachel in this one, but still mostly a pivotal chapter to the story. Next one is ultimately centred around her, however.

**I KNOW THE TRUTH AND IT HAUNTS ME**

_How have I come to this?_

_How did I slip and fall?_

_How did I throw a lifetime away,_

_Without any thought at all?_

"Let's go back inside, please!"

"Go home, Rachel."

"It's too early for you to leave the hospital!"

"Let go of me."

"Mom!"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Fine."

"Just give me some space."

"Space to what? Hurt yourself again?"

"Goodbye, Rachel."

The girl stands at the curb as her mother steps into the cab. As the door shuts with a thud, she swallows thickly. The woman takes a moment's glance back at her as the car is put into ignition and all sound is drowned by the engine's rattle. The girl doesn't move, just watching as the taxi pulls away and her mother forcefully tears her eyes away from the abandoned look on her daughter's face; a face she's much too familiar with.

_I tried to blame it on fortune_

_Some kind of shift in a star_

_I know the truth and it haunts me_

_It's flown just a little too far_

The windows of the house were dark, no shimmer of a television in the moonlight, no kitchen lights nor bedside lamps aflame. The place was utterly lifeless. The ring of the doorbell resonated throughout the home. Hiram stood in the doorway, waiting for a shimmer of movement. There was none. He pushed the small illuminated button once again, waiting patiently. Nothing.

With a grimace, he contemplated turning around and getting back in his car. But instead, he pulled open the screen door and knocked harshly upon the chestnut framing. "Shelby, I know you're in there!" he bellowed, adding another three rapid raps of his knuckles on wood. "I'll knock down the door!" He waited silently, listening for her. Exhaling, he began to turn around when the lock came undone with a click and thud.

Opening the door, Shelby looked her visitor up and down, dark bags under her eyes. She appeared haunted. "What do you want?" she asked crudely, rubbing an eye with the back of her hand.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, openly judging her appearance. His eyes looked up and down her body questioningly, her sweatpants hanging off her hips, revealing the edges of her underwear, her black tank top with a rip in its side having gotten caught on something in the dryer.

She scoffed at his question, but clearly felt uncomfortable by the way he was looking at her and pulled her shirt down self-consciously. "I wish."

"Can I come in?"

"No." He didn't heed to her dismissal, instead taking an opening and pushed past her into the house. Being taller and much sturdier built, she had no say in this matter as he walked through the threshold and began to look around the foyer, glancing at the decor and up the stairs. "Hiram, what the hell? I said no."

"I know, I was just asking to be polite," he told her, not even looking at her as he courteously began to remove his shoes at the front mat.

"You're not welcome in my home," she muttered, but proceeded to close the door behind the both of them, then standing before him with her arms crossed and a lazy scowl across her face. She clearly did not want company, nor did she expect any and he clearly did not care for this fact.

Hiram made his way into the living room, awkwardly standing in front of the coffee table as she followed him in. After shortly inspecting the place, he turned to her and they stared at each other for a moment. He looked annoyed, disappointed and a little tired. She looked dishevelled, frustrated and exhausted. "Aren't you going to offer me something to drink?"

Shelby chuckled dryly. "I don't give drinks to intruders."

"You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"

"You're going to stay here, aren't you?"

He sighed and shook his head at her response. She was being childish, as she would. He hadn't truly spoken to the woman in sixteen years, yet somehow, she hadn't seemed to have grown up at all. "I want to talk about Rachel."

"Of course you do," Shelby said, rolling her eyes. She plopped down onto the recliner, shoulders and arms slumped in utmost laziness. "Look, I'm sorry I broke the contract, made her cry, yada, yada, yada. It was a mistake, I fucked up, I'm aware of my mess-up and so is everyone else and their mother. You don't have to come here to patronize me about it, okay?"

"I'm not here for that, we need to talk about what's best for Rachel."

"I don't think I'm really needed for that either. I'm not her parent, don't you have a husband for that? Why do I have to deal with this?"

"Shut up for once in your life and listen, will you?" he snapped at her. For a moment, she seemed ready to yell at him, but he kept on without allowing her. "I'm not here because of the contract, which, yes, I am angry about but that's mostly for selfish reasons. I'm here because you _did_ break it, and now we have to deal with the ramifications. Or, well, _you_ have to deal with the ramifications, because I'm not going to, nor am I even capable of, cleaning up your mess. As much as I hate to say this, she is your daughter too, which means you need to step up and be responsible for the shit you have caused."

Shelby stood up, suddenly very interested in the light that was on in her kitchen. "I don't have to listen to this."

"Sit back down right now and be a Goddamn adult!" he bellowed, and she jumped at the outburst. She glanced back at him, eyes wide with fury but with a huff, she sat back down, her head turned away from him. "Oh, grow up, Shelby. I get it, okay? You're hurt, grieving, but whether you like it or not, Rachel thinks of you as a mother, and you chose to step into the role, there's no backing out, so you need to own up to it. She's at home, tears in her eyes, waiting for a call from either you or the morgue. Which will it be?"

"The morgue doesn't call you, the receptionist at the hospital does."

"I cannot believe you," he said, staring her down. And she could feel his eyes piercing into her, but she refused to meet his gaze. "I thought maybe I could get you to be somebody mature, somebody who cared about how their actions affected their child, but clearly, I expected too much of you. You're just a selfish bitch."

"Yeah, I am!" she retorted, a rise in her voice. "Isn't that why you picked me to be your surrogate? I was the least likely to give a shit about the kid I was just going to give away. You did your job well, you should be happy!"

"Do you even care about what you've done to her? Do you even give her a second thought?"

"Do I care? _I_ _love her_." Tears sprung at the corner of Shelby's eyes. "It wasn't supposed to be like that! I was supposed to give birth, go to New York and have my life the way I wanted it. But the first time she looked at me, reached out to me with her tiny little hands... I love her so much it hurts and it was all I could think about for _so long_. So don't you tell me that I don't care." She paused to take a few shaky breaths, she couldn't let the wetness in her eyes come to fruition. "I don't know how to be her mom. When she has problems, she's not going to come to _me_. We're never going to spend holiday dinners together. It's too late for me to teach her how to deal with boys, or to help her through her first heartbreak. I'm never going to be family. And I don't want to come second in my own child's life. And she doesn't deserve some half-ass mother figure."

Silence fell over them as Shelby turned her head away, her gaze catching a spot outside the window. He didn't avert his stare however, watching her as she attempted to regulate her breathing. After a few moments, where he felt a sense of guilt rack up in him, Hiram spoke up again. "I'm sorry for lashing out at you."

"I'm not," she replied grudgingly. "You're a real jerk coming here to patronize me."

"I need to look out for my daughter, even if it makes me a jerk, can you blame me?"

"They took _my_ daughter away."

"I'm sorry. I understand what you're going through, but Rachel-"

"Shut up."

"What?"

"Shut up! I'm supposed to be an adult, mature. I'm supposed to be selfless, pretend I'm okay with Rachel, spend time with her like I'm happy. Even if it hurts, because that's what good people do. So maybe I'm not a good person, because I don't want to make myself miserable to keep her happy even though she should be happy with what she already has. And if that makes me a selfish bitch, then so be it. I won't be a martyr either."

"You don't even care that you're hurting her?"

"I gave her two parents that love her, who buy her everything she ever wanted, who have supported every little thing she's ever done. I gave her a stable, perfect family. What more does she want from me?" She stood up, then began to make her way towards the hall. "Shut the door on your way out."

"You know, you're right, Shelby. You're a selfish bitch," he called out to her retreating figure, utter frustration in his tone, but she didn't bother a single glance back.

**Author's Note:** I beseech you to not be angry with the behaviour of either character in this and try to think about what you would do. Not how you hope you would act, not the idealized movie version of how people act, but how real people deal with grief by lashing out, letting their true feelings(no matter how awful or selfish those feelings might be, we still feel them anyways) and the lengths a parent would go to to protecting their child from even the tiniest bit of hurt, even if it means being blinded by how another person might feel.


	4. Leaves Are Falling Down Like Rain

**Author's Note: **Oh God, this took forever! I had written about three different versions of this chapter, but just ended up deleting them out of dissatisfaction. I am, however, a little more pleased with how this one turned out. So, before I become overly scrutinous about this and end up hating it, I'm posting it. By the way, your reviews are just fantastic. I kept getting a stray one every week or so and it was what kept me going with each crap draft until I got to this one. So, thanks so much! My readers are simply the best and I love you all! It's summer now, so hopefully all updates with be faster. I may even pop out another chapter this week, if the muse presents the opportunity.

Also, just by the way, I decided to become available as a beta reader. So, if anyone needs a beta, I'm more than willing! If you read my stories, you'll know I have at least a mildly decent grasp on writing. Hit me up if you're interested!

**LEAVES ARE FALLING DOWN LIKE RAIN**

_I become much too good at being invincible  
I'm an expert at 'play it safe' and 'keep it cool'  
But I swear this is not who I'm meant to be_

"You did what? I can't believe you!" Rachel exclaims, smacking her hands down against her thighs in disbelief.

"Honey, you've been locked up in your room for the past two days, I had to do something," her father replies sternly, a hand on his hip. His lips are pursed, watching her little animated figure move across the living rug.

"Well, you did the exact wrong thing, daddy!" she tells him, angry, but she's never really been one to oppose her parents so her tone is less harsh than one would expect. "She just needs time! She's complicated, but all she needs is some alone time to sort things out for herself, and when she's ready for some support, she'll call me."

Rachel looks up at her father, who's much taller than her, with such confidence and assurance in her position. There's absolutely no way she's wrong. After all, she knows it's what she would do if she were in Shelby's position. Her father has obvious doubts about that, but Rachel is keeping a blind eye to any other possibility.

The girl plops down onto her living room couch, her shoulders heaving as she breathes out loud. "Now you've gone and ruined it! Now she probably _won't_ call. Thanks a lot!" Her father, gingerly sits down on the coffee table in front of her, looks directly into her eyes, making absolute sure she's going to pay attention to him. Hiram knows exactly how to get through to the daughter he raised, or so he thinks.

"Rachel, she's not going to call you. Chances are, she'll... try again," his voice drops at the incursion of his obvious allusion to suicide, and the teenager scowls at the mere prospect of it, but he holds a hand up before she can speak and continues. "Or, she'll move away and you'll never hear from her again. I know her better than you, believe it or not, and she's not going to want support. She has this insane idea that she can do anything and everything by herself. Not so different from you, in that way actually. But she will _not_ come calling. And maybe right now, sweetie, you're not going to listen to me, but she's going to disappear from your life and you need to be prepared for that."

There's a moment of silence as Rachel stares at her father, a frown on her lips. "You're wrong," she says defiantly, her voice heavy. Her arms are crossed, and there's a shimmer of tears in her eyes but it's only because she knows that he's right. As much as she wishes to deny it, he's a lot wiser than her.

Hiram doesn't bother a response, he knows he got through to her, if the teary look on her face isn't enough proof. "You'll get through it, I promise," he tells her, reaching a hand out toward her but before their skin touches, she leaps off the sofa.

She makes her way across the room, grabbing her coat off of the rack and throws it on, buttoning it up as she makes her way towards the front door.

"Hey, hey, where are you going?" Hiram asks, concerned, as he follows her. Maybe he wasn't as successful in his talk as he had assumed. "Did you not hear what I just told you?"

"I heard you," she replies shortly.

"Then?"

"I'll be back," she assures, though it's not the response he's looking for. He gives her a hard glare, ensuring her that she is not allowed to go anywhere. But for once, he's actually scared she isn't going to obey. "I'm not going to visit Shelby. Don't worry."

With that, she turns and opens the door, walking past the front porch, across the freshly snow-covered lawn in haste.

_Let me feel, I don't care if I break down  
Let me fall, even if I hit the ground  
And if I cry a little, and die a little  
At least I know I lived, just a little_

Rachel doesn't enjoy driving, it's a boring activity just meant to get someone from where they start to where they want to go. Not to mention, she's not actually that good at it; even when road conditions are at their best. At the moment, it's not the condition of the road that poses a danger but the condition of her mind. She's clearly distressed, as she knows it, but no one was going to stop her from doing this.

It's not that long of a drive, thankfully. One good thing about this godforsaken town was that no one lived very far from each other. For a moment, she sits in the car, looking out the windshield at the house across the street. She's collecting her thoughts right before deciding to barge in. She needs to know what she's going to say, after all, she doesn't want to sound like an idiot.

After a good ten minutes, she's still sitting in the exact same position and no new revelation of speech has come to her. So, conceding, she runs her hand across her eyes and makes a whimper of a sound before stepping out of her vehicle.

At the front door, she knocks politely, rapping her knuckles across the lush green colour of the wood. She waits, hands folded in front of her when the door opens. Through the opening, she can hear movement, rustles of sound and voices from a television.

"Berry? What are you doing here?"

"May I come in? It's getting rather cold out here," Rachel asks through the screen. The blonde looks her over scrutinously and is sure she should say no, but for some reason, allows her in.

As the shorter girl enters, she looks around as though searching for something only to come up empty. Quinn stares back at her, not sure if she should actually say something. She didn't exactly expect the company, nor was it wanted.

"I won't be here long," Rachel informs at the look of curiosity on her adversary's pale face. "In fact, this will only take a moment. I'm just here to take my little sister back." Her entire idea of coming here with tact had flown out the window the moment her dark eyes had landed up the girl before her. She wasn't exactly sure where the feeling had come from, but she suddenly held an abundant amount of contempt for the girl in front of her.

Quinn sputters in ironic amusement, "Excuse me?"

"I'm here to bring Beth back to her rightful mother. I'm sure you're a little bit put off by this, after all, in September I had a bit of a rant with you about how I might have been a little jealous and felt a little abandoned, but I'm over that. In fact, I've really come to terms with the fact that, in some ways, she's now my sister. And what you've done has caused a lot of pain, I hope you know."

"Get out of my house!" Quinn says suddenly, rage in her eyes. Her hands are ready at her sides.

"Not until I get what I came here for."

"What the heck is wrong with you? You honestly think you can just waltz in here and take my baby?"

"Isn't that exactly what you did to my mother?"

"No! Because she isn't _her_ baby! She's mine!"

"No, she isn't. You gave her away! Beth deserves to be with someone who loved her since she was born, not someone who tossed her away, then felt lonely because her boyfriend dumped her so decided she wanted her back!"

"That is not what happened! You don't know what it's like!"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry I can't understand how hard it is for the most popular girl in school, who lives in a huge house, gets all the possessions she wants, is considered insanely beautiful by just about everybody, with a doting mother and two quarterbacks fawning for her affection twenty four seven days a week!" Rachel spits out. Maybe Shelby wasn't going to become openly angry about it, but someone needed to be.

"Shut up. Just shut up! I'm her mother, and you had better leave before I call the cops," Quinn's face has gone cold. Her expression became passive-aggressive as she took a step back, allowing Rachel the leeway to leave as she had just arrived.

For a moment, Rachel seems about ready to storm the older girl, her bottom lip curling. But instead, she turns back towards the door. She had run out of things to yell about, and the clear realization that this was the wrong thing to do fell over her. As her hand reaches the door, a sudden outburst of wails rings through the house and she turns back.

Quinn makes little movement, waiting first for the other girl to leave before doing anything out of an outward show of precaution.

"Aren't you going to go to her?"

"As soon as you leave."

Rachel scoffs precociously. "It doesn't matter if you do or not. She's not crying for you anyway. I bet every time she feels your hands wrap around her and not her mom's, she just gets disappointed."

"I _am_ her mom."

"No. You're really, really not."

**Author's note: **If you review, I offer... another chapter. See, I was going to come up with something more interesting than that, like an offer of cookies or poutine or a teddy bear, but I'm really just not that clever.


	5. You Think I'm Headed For Disaster

**Author's Note:** So, I lied. I did not post within a week. But hey! You get a whole new chapter pulled right outta my ass. Because seriously, I did not expect the story to go this way, but am pleasantly surprised that it did. Look at my brain all coming up with ideas without me. Your sexy reviews are sexy by the way, and I love you all. Because you're my readers. And my readers are sexy. Yay, sexy people!

**YOU THINK I'M HEADED FOR DISASTER**_  
You think I'm going up in flames  
You wanna break my fall  
You wanna stop them all _

In the dimly lit living room, Shelby Corcoran is lying face-down across her couch. Her legs are lounged over the armrest and half her torso is hanging off the side. She has one arm tucked under a pillow and the other falling forward towards the carpet rolling something across the fleece. On the floor is a child's toy, a plastic mesh ball that turns inside out, changing colour when thrown in the air. Absentmindedly, she's been toying with it for half an hour.

When there's a knock at the door, she turns her head ever so slightly, grimaces, then returns to her mindless task. At the second persistent knock, she grunts and pushes herself upward. Now, she's sitting straight. Before she has the time to stand up, the knocking continues more fervently than before.

Peering through the side window, taking a gander at the visitor to knock on her front door, Shelby sighs. She was ninety percent sure of who it was, after all, no one else ever actually visited. And of course, as her eyes catch a small form fidgeting with her purse waiting for an answer, she was proven right. Making a face, she undoes the chain and then plasters an overcompensated smile along her features in its place.

"How many times are we going to have to do this?" she asks tiredly, not even bothering with the pleasantries of a greeting. "I figured you'd finally gotten the hint, but clearly I was wr-." Barely able to get the words out of her mouth, Rachel storms in past her, immediately rushing to the side closet and pulling out a coat.

"Put this on, quick!"

The teenager has a look of utter panic in her voice, and she shakes the dark coat in her hands, forcing it into her mother's grip. Shelby though, stands there, mouth agape as she gingerly takes the coat from the girl's hands, with no intention of actually wearing it. Rachel has a habit of being a bit odd and way outside Shelby's limit of understanding, but this time, she gets no where past clueless.

"What are you waiting for? Put it on! I'm going to get some stuff," she informs, making her way into the next room. "And then we'll take your car," she continues, though the older woman doesn't move from her spot. "We'll have to figure out a way to get a different one later, but that's not the immediate concern. I guess the spare cash you keep in the kitchen vase will have to do for now..."

Shelby opens her mouth, about to ask how exactly she knew where her emergency money was stored, but decides it's a pointless question. It was quite obvious just how curious Rachel could be; certainly not a trait she'd inherited from her mother.

Appearing back at the front door carrying the small wad money in a plastic bag, along with an assortment of food and Shelby's car keys, Rachel looks at the woman with irritation. "Why haven't you put on your coat?"

"I just don't really feel like going outside right now," Shelby makes a face, waving her hands around as though humouring her. "It's kind of cold, you see, and it's warm in here. So, thank you for the visit, but I think I'm just going to..." she reaches out and takes the bag of cash from her daughter's grip, "stay here." With the biggest of fake smiles, she nods, pats Rachel on the shoulder in a way that could not have been more condescending and begins to make her way back to her kitchen.

For a few seconds, Rachel has an agitated look on her face. She doesn't say anything, but then takes a deep breath. "I have Beth in the car!" she blurts out.

Blinking, Shelby turns in her spot. "What?"

"I went to Quinn's and well... I don't really know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking! I just- you've just been so depressed! And I realized that Beth belongs with you, and so I've brought her back for you! We have to leave before they decide to take her back again!"

Disbelief upon her face, Shelby sputters, not really forming coherent words. "... Is this some kind of joke? Because I'm _really_ not finding it funny."

"It's not a joke. I'm serious and we need to go! Now!" This time, Rachel doesn't wait for a response, and instead rushes out the door towards Shelby's car. Carelessly, she throws the items and her purse into the back seat then makes her way to the driving wheel and puts the keys into ignition. The engine turns over, soft vibrations across the leather lining.

Shelby watches her daughter from the porch as the girl then runs to her car, carrying a small, sleeping figure from the back seat and into the big black Range Rover. Against her better judgement, perhaps out of some long-shot idea that the girl was in fact not insane, or maybe the naive hope that they could get away with this free of consequence, Shelby puts on her coat, closes the door behind her and rushes to the car.

"It's a good thing you didn't uninstall the car seat yet," she says, looking at her mother over the hood of the car. "Let's go!" Rachel insists, opening the passenger side door for her gesturing for the woman to get in. Her hand waves wildly, she's clearly agitated like nothing Shelby has ever seen before.

But the older woman doesn't respond, moving to grab the girl's arm instead. A moment of fear and lucidity overcomes her. "This is crazy!"

"Maybe. But get in anyway!" Rachel exclaims, nudging her inside desperately. Stunned, Shelby concedes and sits down, the door closing after her. Her daughter gets in the car right after, shifting the car into reverse and pulling out of the driveway.

"So if I were to make the _crazy _assumption that we were going to the Fabray's to bring the baby right on back, I would be incorrect, right?" Shelby knows the answer, she even asks it in a tone of humour. Everything feels like it's happening so fast and beyond her control that she needs to ground herself.

"We're leaving town." There's a false calm in Rachel's voice. She's focused on the yellow lines of the road right now. Where Shelby uses sarcasm to centre herself, to make the situation less stressful, her daughter focuses her mind on one thing and one thing only. "I don't know exactly where at the moment, but once we get on the highway, we'll be fine."

"No," her voice is grave, deep; and her bitten nails dig into the armrest as she stares straight ahead. Through the windshield, she suddenly feels like everyone is watching them. It's paranoia, she realizes as she takes a gander at the individual faces strolling along the sidewalk. "No, no, no, no, no, I should _not _have gotten in the car. Mistake number one. Go back. We're going back."

"It's too late now! We'll get in trouble."

"Correction, _you'll_ get in trouble. For being insane! Rachel, why would you even think of doing this?" Shelby runs her hands through her hair, swallowing thickly. Her eyes are bloodshot, but she hasn't felt so alive in weeks. Whether that's actually a good thing or not, she doesn't know.

"I'm doing this because of you! I was sitting in my car, or well, my dads' car, thinking, and all I knew was that if you managed to kill yourself and I didn't do everything I possibly could to save you, I would regret it forever."

There's an empty beat. Sudden silence falls over them, the smaller noises drowned out by the sound of the engine. Shelby stares at the girl who is _literally_ willing to do anything for her, and feels something get stuck in her throat. "This was the wrong thing to do, honey," she reaches to place a hand on her daughter's thigh, calming the shakiness running through the both of them. "I didn't fight for custody of Beth because I didn't want her to go through conflict. I didn't want her to end up in the middle of something bigger than herself, it's not fair to her."

"Not fair to her? And what about you? What'll happen to you? This entire thing is destroying you."

She's silent for a moment as her eyes rake over her daughter. She can't seem to remember a time when someone had stopped to think about her well-being. "Well, this is hardly much better," Shelby starts off, scoffing slightly. Her hand falls away. "At this point, I'll probably go to prison, you realize?" Rachel seems to be thinking those words over, and Shelby catches the look. "Oh my God... I'm going to prison. Prison. I'm too pretty for prison! Somebody's probably going to try to make me their bitch. I can't do that!" she exclaims, pointing to herself incredulously. "Life on the inside is hard. And I've tried out the whole lesbian thing; it really doesn't work for me. So let's turn around, just as a courtesy to the lovely prison inmates who I am positive do _not_ want to be subjected my constant late night singing."

"Is that _really_ what you're worried about?" Rachel asks incredulously.

"No! When I'm stressed, I use inappropriate sarcastic humour, it's a coping mechanism!" Shelby lets out a very deep breath, her rant having drawn out her entire air supply. "Just get off at this exit, and we'll turn around. No harm, no foul. We can't do this to Beth."

"And what about me?" Rachel asks, taking her eyes off the road momentarily to meet her mother's stare. "You want to protect Beth, but I'm in this now too. And if we go back, who knows what will happen to me. And Quinn... she's always had it out for me. So, you have to look out for me as well. I'm your daughter, and if you do love me, which I sometimes doubt, then you'll protect me too."

Rachel's gaze returns to the road and Shelby swallows, not able to come up with a viable answer. "Please, God, let me awaken from this really bad LSD trip. I swear I will never again be tempted by sin. Or tempted by the smell of bacon. Or watch sleazy daytime dramas," Shelby says, looking up towards the roof of the car as though in true prayer.

"Will you take this seriously for a moment?"

"Rachel, if I take this seriously, my head might just explode into a million tiny pieces and I will cease to exist."

"Stop being so melodramatic," Rachel sighs, checking the street signs that just passed overhead.

"Says the girl who just kidnapped a baby."

"We're not going back. I'm not going to loll around and watch you destroy yourself."

"No, you're doing that for me just fine on your own."

"Why don't you comprehend that I'm trying to help you?" Rachel cries out, her face contorting in frustration.

"I have no doubt of your good intentions. But honey, this is not going to help either of us, with anything. We pass that border, we're fugitives."

"It's going to be okay."

"How?"

"I don't know. Not yet."

**Author's Note:** All will be revealed (or at least, go back and be revealed) and explained... if you review. Mwahahaha.


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